


the years burn

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-Loss Comfort (Men's Hockey RPF), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jamie’s hands are softer than people think.
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 109
Collections: Anonymous





	the years burn

**Author's Note:**

> Title from smashing pumpkins’ “disarm”

Tyler’s past the point of caring. He’s too tired to care. Jamie’s expression is like a brick wall when he opens the door. There’s nothing there. His eyes are empty. He looks down at Tyler and Tyler doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Maybe an explanation. Tyler’s not supposed to be here. He opens his mouth and realizes he has nothing to say that won’t be grade-A bullshit, so he closes it again. He tries exhaling through his nose, but the movement gets stuck in his chest and the air comes out in shaky puffs. Tyler breaks eye contact first. He drops his chin and stares at the spatter of bruises on Jamie’s stomach. His own hip cramps under a sharp tug of pain and Tyler swallows. Pressure builds behind his eyelids. If he starts crying, he won’t be able to stop. “Fuck.” He murmurs, and then louder, “Fuck. Fuck!”

A hand curls around his bicep and he’s tugged inside the room before he can say anything else.

-

Jamie has an off-putting temper that flares up out of nowhere and either makes him explode or drop off the face of the earth. Tyler was betting on the latter tonight. Jamie had stood alone in the middle of the locker room and he looked beat up. Old. Tyler couldn’t face him. Jamie had cried, just a little, as he mumbled through perfunctory _thank you’s_ , and most of them had cried with him.

Maybe that’s why Tyler decided to go up to his floor and knock on his door, because he didn’t think Jamie would open it.

But he did. His hand is still on Tyler’s arm. The room’s dark except for the moonlight that creeps through the window. It’s quiet. A different type of quiet. The locker room had been the loudest fucking quiet Tyler had ever heard in his life. Here, though, it’s just quiet. Tyler grabs Jamie’s wrist and drags his hand up Jamie’s arm until it reaches his shoulder. He tries pulling Jamie closer, but Jamie’s immovable. He doesn’t give in an inch. He’s still staring down at Tyler behind a mask of nothing.

Tyler thinks maybe Jamie wants to hit him. “Are you going to hit me?” He asks, and regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. Jamie’s face crumbles. His eyes turn very big, and very sad, and Tyler wants to bolt out there faster than he’d been yanked inside. Jamie’s grip on him tightens until it’s painful and Tyler grits his teeth so he won’t show it. Jamie shakes him, hard, once. Then he pulls Tyler towards him and Tyler slots himself against Jamie’s body like he was built to fit there. He buries his face in Jamie’s neck and lets out a sob that threatens to break him in half. 

“It’s okay.” Jamie says, even though it isn’t. He starts walking them backwards, to the bed, and Tyler lets it happen. He doesn’t turn on the light. Tyler can’t see much, just blunt shapes and the moon outside. It’s better this way. He breathes heavily into Jamie’s collarbone, and tries to focus on slowing down his pulse. Jamie lays him down on the bed like he’s a fucking doll, or a mannequin, and that may as well be the case because Tyler’s gone fucking limp. His bones have turned to jelly. He lets himself be laid on his back and can’t help the deep, pleased exhale that’s punched out of his chest at the comfort of the mattress. Jamie tugs at the hem of Tyler’s sweatshirt and Tyler holds up his arms. 

Shame is nothing but a distant echo. Jamie’s hands are softer than people think.

His touches are nimble, careful. He pulls off Tyler’s sweatshirt, then takes off his shoes, one after the other. Tyler’s jeans are a trickier task. His hips hurt when he arches them off the mattress, and he barely manages to keep himself quiet. His head is getting heavier. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Jamie’s hand lingers over Tyler’s now-exposed knee. Even in the dark, it can’t be a pretty sight. The skin’s an angry red tinged with brown, blue around the bone. Cortisone makes it bearable, but swollen. Tyler drags his hand up Jamie’s forearm again, and sighs when Jamie finally looks back. The moonlight cuts over his chest and sharpens his face.

“One to ten?” Jamie asks, in a voice too soft to belong to a man who looks like him. The contrast is intoxicating. Always has been. “Tyler.”

“Seven.”

Jamie spreads his hand over Tyler’s thigh and his thumb rubs against the little needle bumps across the inner muscles. Tyler’s dick twitches with interest. They’re still looking at each other. “One to ten.” Jamie repeats. Tyler has to swallow down the lump in his throat before he replies,

“Eight.” And then, “Hey, what are we doing? I already got my physical, Jamison.”

Jamie sighs. He lets his body topple back on the mattress next to Tyler’s, and when Tyler turns his head to look at him, his eyes are closed. “I don’t fucking know.” Jamie mumbles. His chest goes up and down as he breathes. “What do you want?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Tyler copies. Jamie snorts, and smiles, ableist sadly. Tyler considers his profile, the pretty upturn of his nose. He reaches for Jamie’s hand and Jamie lets him grab it, lace their fingers together. “I’m fucking exhausted.” His voice breaks on the last word and it’s as if a dam cracks behind his eyeballs. Tyler blinks furiously, and tastes salt on his lips. “Two months stuck in this hell for fucking nothing. We were so close, so fucking close.” 

His dad taught him to be quiet when he cries, but he can’t, not right now. Air leaves his lips in shuddering little gasps. When Jamie opens his eyes again, they’re glassier than before. That’s not what Tyler wanted. He doesn’t know why he came here, but it wasn’t to make Jamie cry. “No, don’t. I’m sorry.” Tyler murmurs. Jamie turns on his side and wraps an arm around Tyler’s middle, pulling him close. He kisses Tyler’s temple, then his cheek. His beard feels funny on Tyler’s skin. The sort of funny Tyler thinks about when he’s fucking smoother faces. He’s hard in his briefs, but it’s not urgent. It’s more of an afterthought. Tyler sniffs, and says, “I didn’t come here to fuck.”

“Sure.” Jamie agrees, voice wet, even as he nuzzles his nose into Tyler’s curls.

“You smell good, though.”

“Go to sleep, Tyler. Tomorrow’s another day.”

Tyler closes his eyes, tilts his head until he can hide in the curve of Jamie’s neck, and obliges.

-


End file.
